


Memory's Shadow

by Sheogorath



Category: Shadow of Memories | Shadow of Destiny
Genre: Ending D, Mark Twain - Freeform, Pastiche
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1819417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheogorath/pseuds/Sheogorath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've heard of the story entitled <i>A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court</i>, right? Well, what if someone from the past found himself in the reverse situation? Based slightly on Ending D from <i>Shadow of Memories</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

## Prologue.

Coughing, Dr. Wolfgang Wagner stumbled up the stairs from his cellar and into the surprisingly dust and smoke free ruins of his former home. He remembered the young man in the strange tunic and hose warning him that his experiment to create the Homunculus was dangerous, but Wolfgang had had no idea of just how _destructive_ it was going to be. He had been expecting broken furniture or at least its remains, but there was only nothing, and he appreciated just how close he had come to dying.

With this thought, the alchemist opened his front door to leave his shattered house, then had to close his eyes against the sudden brightness that hit them. That was strange. The sky he could see through his roof had been dark and the ambient temperature certainly suggested it was nighttime, so why was it suddenly as bright as midday?

Squinting against the almost painful light, Wolfgang stepped into the street, then stopped in confusion when he heard the sole of his shoe hit a stone surface rather than the hard packed earth he was accustomed to. Looking down, he saw that the road was paved with cobblestones, and he wondered just how long he had been unconscious after the explosion in his laboratory.

Several minutes later, his vision clearer, Wolfgang stood outside the rathaus and studied the strange lights on its wall. They seemed to consist of flameless light held in bulbs of some clear material within metal cages that framed panes of the same clear substance, and not knowing what magic had created these things, the alchemist grew fearful.

Just then, there was a strange roaring noise and a dreadful squealing, then a voice called out, "Hey, watch it! You might get run over by a drunk driver if you just stand there!"

"Hey, aren't _we_ , like, kinda drunk?" the driver's companion snorted.

"What is this strange contraption? Where are its horses?" asked Wolfgang.

"Who needs horses when you can have horsepower?"

With that, the car drove away at a speed that astonished the alchemist, and his fears grew at what could be done with the concentrated power of horses and the idea of what might have happened to the animals so their strength could be harnessed in wagons that were driven without them. Looking around wildly, he headed towards the only familiar and seemingly safe object nearby and crouched beneath its branches, shivering in reaction to all he had witnessed until he finally fell asleep. When he awoke again, this nightmare would be over and he would have a good story to tell his children, Hugo and Margarete.


	2. Chapter One

## Chapter One.

"Hey, wake up. Don't you know it's against the law to sleep in public places?"

Wolfgang squinted up at the man and, was that a woman? who had shaken him awake, taking in their identical clothing and the word on the front of their tunics: Polizei. He repeated the word in a questioning tone.

"Don't you know what the police are? Where have you been for the last century?" The male police officer spat as if in disgust, then took an oblong box made from some strange substance from his chest and pressed a button on its side before speaking into it. "We've got a live one here, showing clear signs of mental disorder. Please advise."

After the button was released, a voice came from the box and Wolfgang's fear returned. Witchcraft! He pressed himself hard against the trunk of the tree he stood under, then began running to where he remembered the Kirche St. Jakob being, not too far from the rathaus. With a huge sense of relief, he saw the building he was expecting and flung himself through its doors ahead of the pursuing police officers, then stopped short at the hubbub in the building that ceased as the gathered tourists took in the newcomer and his clothing. All of a sudden, many of the people held up slim boxes of a similar material to that of the radio, then whirring and clicking sounds filled the sanctified space of the church just as the police entered it.

Immediately he was grabbed, the alchemist started to struggle fiercely and desperately, then a tremendous burning pain filled his eyes, nose, and mouth, and he sank to the floor where he lay as his hands were fastened behind him with sharp-edged manacles that bit into his wrists. Still choking and wheezing, Wolfgang then felt himself being hauled upright and half-carried, half-dragged from the church before the female police officer used her radio to summon a van to take her prisoner to the Bezirksklinikum for psychiatric assessment.

✱   ✱   ✱

"Hello. My name's Dr. Maier. What's yours?"

Dr. Maier pulled a ballpoint pen from the chest pocket of his lab coat and clicked the top, causing his patient to jump back in shock as the nib appeared from its housing.

"What's wrong? It's only a pen."

"I don't know what that is, but I assure you, it is not a pen. I know pens, I've trimmed and cut many of them since I was a boy."

"It _is_ a pen," Dr. Maier said, writing his name in the correct place on the form he held and showing it to Wolfgang. "You see? Now, please tell me your name."

"I am Wolfgang Wagner."

"Very good. And your date of birth?"

"I was born on St. Lammas' Day in 1541."

" _Really_?" Dr. Maier made some notes, then asked, "What is your occupation?"

"Most people know me as an apothecary, but the majority of my time is taken up with my alchemical experiments."

"I see. Tell me, what year do you think this is?"

"I'm not sure. The explosion in my laboratory occurred in 1584, but streets are not paved overnight, and the expansion of Lebensbaum along with the other strange things I've witnessed leads me to believe that many decades have passed since my success in creating the Homunculus."

"Do you have any family?"

"My daughter, Margarete, has been a seamstress since she was fourteen, and my son, Hugo, has yet to find his role in society although he has already left Wurzburg University. My wife, Helena, passed away three years ago of a mysterious illness that was beyond my abilities to cure, unfortunately. She was never strong, and Hugo and Margarete are the only two children she was ever able to produce."

"Interesting. And at what age did Hugo first attend university?"

"He was fifteen."

Dr. Maier nodded, writing all of this down, then there was a knock at the door and a nurse looked in to say, "There's a man just arrived who's looking for someone fitting this gentleman's description."

"I'm not gentry, I merely provide a service," the alchemist said, causing both of the other men to give him a sympathetic look before Dr. Maier left the room to speak with the visitor.

✱   ✱   ✱

"Hello, I'm Dr. Georg Maier. And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Eckart Brum. I'm looking for my nephew and the police said they'd brought him here."

"Could you please tell me your nephew's name and give a full description?"

"Of course. His name is Wolfgang Wagner, my sister's child, and he's in his late teens with shoulder-length blond hair that he ties back in a ponytail. He believes that he's a widowed apothecary and alchemist from the sixteenth century with two children, and he often dresses the part."

"I see. Can you tell me the nature of your nephew's illness? You see, I _was_ leaning towards schizophrenia, but the depth of his delusions would make his mind too disordered to do the research necessary to maintain his role, and he doesn't have all of the symptoms, either."

"Wolfgang was diagnosed with delusional disorder last year, but has experienced issues from some years before that."

"Who are you, and how do you know of my patient?"

"As I've already said-"

"Bullshit! No psychiatrist of the slightest merit would diagnose that young man with delusional disorder based on his symptoms. Plus the fact that his fear, and then his curiosity, of contemporary objects was beyond what the greatest actor can pull off."

Eckart sighed, then admitted, "I was taking a group of tourists on a tour of Lebensbaum, where I live, when that young man burst into the church before the police arrested him." He showed Dr. Maier a photo on his smartphone before continuing, "When I saw his clothing, I suspected him to be Dr. Wolfgang Wagner, a foremost alchemist from the sixteenth century, but knew I'd never be allowed to talk to him unless I claimed what I did. I'm sorry."

" _Dr._ Wagner?"

"Yes. Since apothecaries gave medical advice as well as remedies to their customers, this made them equivalent to the doctors of today."

"So what made you think that my patient is who he says he is?"

"Ah, thank you for confirming that for me," Eckart said, pulling a book entitled _Alchemists of Our City_ from his jacket pocket and handing it over. "In that book you'll find an illustration of Dr. Wagner brewing an experimental compound, and apart from the obvious age issue, he greatly resembles the young man who was brought here by the polizei."

Dr. Maier took the book and turned to a page that had been marked by a sticky note being folded over its edge, and was surprised by the illustration he saw. Although the illustration was quite dark, the man depicted in it was clearly an older version of Wolfgang Wagner, just as Eckart Brum had stated.

Sitting down in shock, Dr. Maier let out a breath before asking, "All right, what is your interest in Dr. Wagner?"

"I want to take him into my home and gradually introduce him to life in the twenty-first century."

"That is probably the best thing for him. Very well."

Having said this, Dr. Maier escorted Eckart to see Wolfgang and pass on the news.

"Dr. Wagner, this is Eckart Brum. He has agreed to take you into his home so he can help you. I've agreed to this since it's clear that you aren't mentally ill, but the final decision rests with you."

After thinking this over for several moments, Wolfgang nodded and said, "I agree."

Twenty minutes later, after he had finally been discharged, the alchemist followed Eckart from the Bezirksklinikum and into his new life.


	3. Chapter 3

## Chapter Two.

Leading Wolfgang through the front door of the museum, Eckart said, "Now, this may come as a shock, so be prepared."

With that, he turned the lights on, and his guest asked, "What strange magic is this?"

"No magic, just nineteenth century technology. No better than pocket watches or the printing press, simply more advanced."

"And how did you work this miracle?"

"I didn't. Men who died long before my birth were responsible for the invention of electricity and its use in indoor lighting."

"Yet it is not to be denied that it was under your control."

"Oh, _that_! There's a switch just here, see?"

Once he had been shown how to work the switch, Wolfgang flicked the lights on and off several times, then breathed, "Fascinating!" once he had stopped. After this, he was shown to a plain but bright and attractive room, declaring his unhappiness with the bed, which he declared to be uncomfortable.

"I would liefer have a wool-filled palliasse on a frame of stretched rope," he said, pressing the mattress with his hand. "This is firmer than I am used to."

"Don't worry, you'll soon get used to it and it will give you better support. Besides that, it's the softest mattress available nowadays."

"Then I suppose I shall have to make do with it." Nevertheless, Wolfgang was still obviously unhappy, and the museum director could see him repetitively closing and opening one hand by his side.

"Well, now I've shown you where you'll be sleeping, I thought you might like to have a bath," Eckart said, filling his guest with horror.

"I can't. Bathing would open my pores and I would catch plague through them. It is sufficient that I change my linen every month and wash my face and hands every day."

"First of all, there is no plague anymore. Modern medicine has wiped it out in this country. Second, I bathe every day and I haven't died of any disease. Lastly, to be quite frank with you, you stink by modern standards, and should be clean so that you can be taken anywhere you might wish to go. You won't know how to drive, so you will have to get around on public transport."

"I don't need to know how to drive, I can simply hire a horse if I can't go somewhere by foot."

"Hiring a horse is very expensive nowadays and you are limited in where you can go, on top of the fact that there are now few places from which to hire horses. That's why it's cheaper and easier to catch a bus or a train. The nearest train station is only a short distance outside of the Rödertor, and there are bus stops all over the town. You could also hire a taxi, but the cost of that is more than for a journey by train."

"So if I want to go anywhere, I have to bathe?"

"Yes, you do."

"Then I'll just stay here so I won't have to expose myself to the dangers of water."

"Water isn't as dangerous as it was in the sixteenth century because we've developed ways of purifying it, and you do have to bathe if you want to stay here. Come on, I'll help you."

For the next twenty minutes, the alchemist faced the embarrassment of being stripped, bathed, and having his hair washed as if he was a baby by a man only a few years older than him, then he had to be helped to dress in the clothes which Eckart provided, clothes he immediately recognised as the strange tunic and hose worn by the young man who had first visited his home in 1580. Once in the black polo neck, forest green trousers, and brighter green jacket, he tied his hair back in its usual style, then a mirror was held in front of him by his host. In the surprisingly clear image, Wolfgang saw the spitting image of Michael Busch, or whatever his name had been. After this, he picked up his ueurlein and made to hang it back around his neck.

Shaking his head, Eckart said, "That is seen as a very valuable antique nowadays and might get stolen, so I advise you to leave it in the drawer of your bedside cabinet and wear this wristwatch instead."

Wolfgang looked at the watch, then asked, "What are these extra hands for?"

"The shortest one indicates what hour it is, the longest one indicates how many minutes it is since the last hour or to the next, and the thinnest hand counts the seconds. It's far more accurate than the one you currently have."

Nodding in acknowledgement of this truth, Wolfgang took the watch and strapped it onto his left wrist with Eckart's assistance.

"How often should it be wound?"

"Not at all. It's a quartz watch, so it runs off an internal battery. By the way, I thought it best that you not travel under your real name since some visitors to this town are real history buffs, as are some of its residents, so I've arranged for documents to be drawn up in the name of Eike Kusch. You should receive these items in the post within the next couple of weeks, but I thought I'd tell you now to get used to the idea and so you can introduce yourself to people with your new name."

To get used to his new name, the alchemist said it over and over while sitting on his bed, continuously repeating, "Eye-kuh Koosh, Eye-kuh Koosh, Eye-kuh Koosh," until he thought he knew it well enough that he wouldn't forget it. The next thing he did was to seek out his host and ask him if he had a mortar and pestle so he could make remedies once he had been out to find the ingredients for them.

"Actually, there's no such thing as apothecaries anymore. Now, doctors diagnose patients while pharmaceutical companies make the remedies and pharmacists dispense them."

"Then how am I to earn a living?"

"Well, I suppose you could go into alternative medicine, although you'd be likely to make money only from the desperate and the gullible. No, bad idea. Come on, let's go food shopping and we'll think about it some more."

✱   ✱   ✱

Upon walking into the supermarkt, Eike was transfixed by music and voices seemingly coming from the air, and he asked his host what was causing it.

"Since your time, we have developed various ways of capturing sounds and pictures and storing them on special discs," Eckart explained. "What you're hearing now is a song which was recorded by the Bamberger Symphoniker and composed by a famous man named Ludwig van Beethoven."

Eike seemed to be rooted to the spot as a bass, tenor, and soprano joined together in singing:  
"Who had the great fortune to be a friend of a friend  
Whoever has won a devoted wife, join in our jubilation!  
Yes, whoever calls even one soul his own on this earth!  
And who's never able to, must creep tearfully away from this band!"

"Is _all_ twenty-first century music so beautiful?" he finally breathed.

"This is from the eighteenth century, actually. And no, it isn't. In fact, you'll probably find many tunes are rather discordant to your ears at first. Come on, we have to get vegetables first."

As the alchemist accompanied Eckart around the large shop, he was fascinated all over again by the concept of selecting one's own groceries from an entire range in the one building rather than being served with everything by people behind counters in various different shops, and he examined the packaging of some items very closely. Then Eckart reached the checkout, and Eike was astonished to discover that there seemed to be no one to take the money required to purchase the food, his host instead taking each item out of the trolley and passing it over a horizontal black panel that bleeped before placing it into plastic carrier bags on a large metallic surface bolted to the side of the amazing machine. Eckart then fed notes and coins into slots beside the vertical barcode scanner, taking the slip of paper that spooled out and stuffing it into one of his pockets before picking up some of the bags and walking away. Taking the other man's lead, Eike picked up the remaining bags and followed him out of the store.

While walking through the car park of the supermarkt, Eike saw a child with a port wine birthmark and approached her, saying, "I can make an ointment to spread on your birthmark to remove it, along with a course of cupping."

Eckart pulled him away, saying, "I'm sorry. My cousin is practicing his role as an apothecary for my museum, but he has a cognitive disability, so doesn't always realise what's appropriate."

"That's all right," the girl's father said. "It's the first time anyone's looked directly at our little Liesel without horror or pity on their faces." Then Liesel's mother said to Eike, "Thank you for your offer, but Liesel is already being seen by another doctor. We will certainly seek your services if his treatment fails, though."

With that, the family walked away, and Eckart was struck by an inspiration.

"That's it!" the museum owner said. "Your job will be to pretend to be an apothecary in my museum to demonstrate the medical treatments available to people in the sixteenth century."

"But I already _am_ an apothecary," Eike said unhappily.

"There's no call for apothecaries in the twenty-first century, but there's always room for re-enacters. Being an actual apothecary, you'll be more genuine than the best re-enacter that currently exists. Come on, we've got a bit more shopping to do."

Eike was puzzled as he followed his host back to the manor, then he watched in fascination as the other man placed several orders online.

"More technology magic?"

"More technology, certainly. The computer was invented by Konrad Zuse, a Berliner, in 1936, and the Internet was invented by the United States Military in the 1960s and 1970s."

"The United States Military?"

Eckart spent some time giving his guest a potted history of the land formerly known as the New World, then ensconced him in front of his TV and DVD player to learn more. After this, he got on the phone to speak to his costume designer and make arrangements for sixteenth century style clothing to be made from the fabrics he had ordered from eBay.

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright © 2014 Romersa's Protégé. Individuals and groups are free to copy and share this work for all purposes except large scale distribution, subject to credit being given and any derivatives being released under the same or a similar licence. All other rights reserved.


End file.
